Change
by shackalarcky
Summary: Armin is weightless flight of loyalty, tenderness, light. Eren is a pure drive of energy, brightness, innocence. First is the standard of elegance, second - of courage. And one day the elegance will bend to the courage, will allow it to break the wings, will humbly shut up in tightening bonds. AU in which Eren changes the nature of Armin.
1. Chapter 1 The storm

When Armin turned thirteen, he began working in an old antique store on the outskirts of the city. He saw engraved porcelain mugs, silvered books and thin rings that you want to stick your fingers. All sorts of things which is never useful.

' _Why_ ', he constantly asked himself. ' _Why for such big money people buy crystal shoes-salad bowls, if they never bring it out into the light, worrying about their appearance? Why do they need this blings on the windows, made of rock crystal, and costing like all my clothes, taken three times?_ '

He understood that some people just eat breakfast on such amounts, and sometimes this lead him into depression.

The old rags he inherited from his older brother look ridiculous at low skinny body — they hang and interfere with normal walking. There isn't enough money to buy a powder so his grandfather used to buy a regular household soap. Yes, the thing that smells not the best way and the odor disappears in less than a week. So Armin continually smells like soap.

And he thought it couldn't get any worse.

But then this story wouldn't have happened.

' _Sit down and listen, friend, how I met my little night lantern._ '

* * *

As told by his parents — with what kind of mood you wake up in the morning, the same will follow you all day. And he always believed the conviction, maybe that's why he rarely was in trouble.

When Armin was eight he had a strange dream leading him to creeps.

He clearly remembered saying goodbye to his parents as he goes to school, felt mother's gentle kiss on his forehead and heard father's counsel. He was given money to buy bread on the way back. Armin nodded cheerfully, and his blond hair bounced on his head.

He walked along the edge of the path as his toes barely touched grass, growing on the verge of the asphalt. It tickled his exposed heel, and the boy happily laughed holding his stomach.

Armin exactly knew the road and he was sure he's on the right track but the streets somehow changed its direction, painted houses in other colors and broke fences protecting homes. Menacing clouds were gathering over his head as they were chirring. Soon it began to rain. If all the light was gone, leaving only dark sky and the sparkling flash of lightning.

He was scared, he was shaking. Not everyone wants to be outside in a thunderstorm, unprotected and alone.

Then he saw _them_.

Parents who stood on the other side of the road and pulled hands to him, urging him to stand under the umbrella and go home.

Thunder boomed in his ears, laying them. Screams were indecipherable.

He woke up in a cold sweat, with faces of his parents in front of the eyes and his own heart-rending cries. The tears were not to stop, but he rubbed his eyes painfully, afraid that now all of this becomes true. The boy rose to his feet, hesitantly got out of bed and ran to the parents' room.

The sun was far to climb, the space lit only a small lamp attached to the socket in the wall. The room was silent, diluted only by peaceful humming of his father.

His parents didn't know why their son was roaring lying in the middle of the bedroom.

All became clear a week later.

They got into the plane crash.

It was a business trip, and relatives of employees were invited too. Armin refused, but his older brother expressed a desire to skip a week of school.

The pilot lost control in clouds, and the plane flew down. Brother died on the spot. Parents are in a coma.

* * *

'I don't want it,' Armin says himself. 'Only a weak man will ruin his own health a month for a torn t-shirt.'

He stands in the middle of the street staring at the window of barely opened boutique. Fucking expensive t-shirt dark orange color with carefully cut slits on the ribs looks at him through the thick glass. The guy moves slightly to the left, and can he see the writing on the back.

Shut Your Eyes

Nervously looking around, he thinks. If he buys it now, he doesn't have money for jeans from second-hand. And if he doesn't buy it, he would wear oldies and pout.

'Ah!' Armin breaks out, turns around and bumps into someone. As he raises his eyes he buried them in a deep cut of a dress. 'Excuse me!' he hastily mutters and rushes past girl, hoping that she doesn't hold grudges. He hurries to turn the corner, enters the building which situated immediately around the corner and goes down to the basement storey.

He's seventeen and his body grows with suspicious progression. Even if you look at the face, it's easy to see the differences: facial contours has stretched, cheekbones appeared, large eyes don't seem so big, but still burning. He began to remove back regrown to the shoulder blades hair using hairgrip.

On the ground floor is surprisingly fresh and cool. Air conditioners do their job, and a small number of people allow cool air to remain in the hall. Little girl of six or seven is running back and forth, trying on dress and tiny ballet shoes. She screams something about a summer vacation and the trip to the sea. A soft smile begins to grow on his face as Armin's watching her. He remembers himself at her age, surprised to see that he was just as restless.

Armin knows that the right lane is hanging the cheapest clothes which he can ever imagine. Yes, it can be torn, ugly stitched up and with a terrible picture. " _But that's no problem, right?_ " he says to himself. It is always possible to sew, to hide the sloppy tie. Importantly, it can be _worn_.

The guy chooses only two things — a simple dark blue shirt and bright shorts with blue side panels of the pant leg. Prices are reasonable, and they are comfortable outwardly. Unfortunately, in the store they are nowhere to measure, so you have to choose by eye.

Pay for your purchase, Armin goes out and walks towards the place of work. He must go for long, but he was used to daily walking and not complaining.

 _'After all, you expressed a desire to help the family. Here now, do as you promised._ '

He often remembers his mother's words about the need to learn and get interesting, but worthy profession. However, how he can attend school or college when it needs workers? Who will help granddad, who will pay the rent, who will render to doctors? WHO?

These questions he asks himself probably a million times.

And there is the only one answer. _He, Armin._

'Oh, mom. I wish I had flying with you' , the guy sometimes thinks and gives himself a slap. Painful, but sobering.

* * *

Armin is sitting on the chair, wearily staring out of the window. Children run past, his peers ride bikes. A cuckoo clock jangling behind him, a crystal gleams into his left eye. The light in the room is brighter than outside, and it's nerves the blond. Lately he began to notice that his emotions live like they're separated from him. If they want – they make him yell at another restless visitor, then 'the tax' will be deducted from his salary. If they want – they will gurgle inside of him as in the boiling broth, rejoicing for no reason. He knows it's called 'crisis of adolescence', but he thinks it is not up to him. Survive, survived.

The bell on the door rings and it opens, introducing into the store new visitor. It's a fragile-looking girl with bluish-black caret and clouds-colored eyes. She looks around, and then comes to missing Armin.

'Good afternoon.'

Armin stands up and nods her head.

'Can I help you?'

'I'm looking for a gift. Something small, but at the same time beautiful. Without any sequin or flowers,' her voice is pensive, she slowly pronounces the words. Quite hard to understand what she wants.

'What? Decoration, decorative toys, figurines?'

'Something from figurines, I guess,' mutters the girl. Armin runs until the end of the corridor, stopping almost in front of the door, and picks up the lion from the bottom shelf.

'He's about two years,' he says smiling. Peripheral vision he sees the brunette reaching for the dial to the right of him — there're a dozen tin soldiers. 'But they are about a hundred.'

'I'll take them,' black-haired says quietly and looks into the face of the seller. Her eyes widen, it seems that she's choking to death. 'What... _Armin_?'

'Ah?..'

'Look, Mikasa,' Armin quickly turns his head to the sound of the bell. 'How long are you still going to hang around?!'

'Why his face seems so familiar?..' the blond thinks as he moves his glance from well-known black t-shirt with slits up to the eyes of the newcomer. _Vivid and verdant._ _'Really?.._ '

He slips, tries to grab for anything, he drops the lion, tilts standing beside of him wardrobe feeling its weight. Paint slowly loses their richness. He loses consciousness.


	2. Chapter 2 The Three Key Words

'Not so closely', Armin hears through a veil. Bright red circles sailing under the eyelids. The ribs are burning, and the pain interferes with breathing.

He slowly opens his eyes: first one, then the second. The dark room — apparently the windows are shuttered - and the air dry.

'Lie down', the girl runs up to him. He remembers her — a gorgeous black-haired lady. The look focuses on her a bit longer than necessary, trying to read her lips: his ears are laid.

'You have a broken rib'.

He frowns. The question ' _how_ ' read in his eyes.

'The cabinet has fallen'.

'Right on you'.

Painfully familiar green eyes look out over the girl's shoulder and peer at the worried Armin's face. Gray-eyed turns away from him, gleaming with black hair, and shouts something into the distance. The guy across from him moves closer. The blond frowns even more.

Someone throngs agitated dark brown, and another face emerges over him — pale, with dull, thin lips, sunken cheekbones, petite straight nose and dead eyes. It looms everywhere Armin looks without changing the expression or per gram. Guy began to think that it was his hallucination, when suddenly the face disappeared, and it became difficult to breathe. He felt someone's hands on his sternum: they have something twisted, climbs under the thin fabric of the shirt and fired his cold.

'Blow it out', Armin hears through the sleep and obeys the order. After a couple of seconds he feels at his ribs if all the ice of Antarctica drops on him, and Arlert gasps, opening his mouth and breathing seemed hot air.

Like it or not, but it helps.

Tears freeze in his eyes, and the metallic taste of blood feels on the lips. Is it his? Armin is motionless staring at the ceiling.

'You're lucky', he hears a voice somewhere nearby. It is clear, cold and quiet. Turning his head, Armin runs into those dark eyes. 'Heat has always been a bad ally for all types of fractures. You'd better appreciate your friends.'

He turns and walks to the door, one hand clinging to the waist and saying, 'Oh, these night shifts-'

* * *

Deep night gave way to a foggy morning. As soon as the male nurse had gone, the two are kicked out. Armin strained that he remembers the face of the boy, but could not determine the cause. Or at least his name. Instead, he lies on his back, afraid to move. God forbid if a new attack of pain will begin. Unwittingly, he falls asleep.

Waking up, he hears the teens talking quietly in the hallway.

'But why didn't you recognize him immediately?' angrily rustling and profusely gesticulating, the guy asks.

'How could I know that it's him?' in the same tone meets girl. 'You think I care about sellers? To begin with, what the fuck are you even doing in the store, when I told you to wait in the car?

The guy lowers his head and his puffed cheeks slightly blush.

'I was wondering' under the destructive glance black-haired girl his determination noticeably lessens. 'Don't look like that!'

'Can't you see that your selfishness has hurt the man? It wasn't enough that he was saddled with the wacky wardrobe? Do you want to leave him a psychological trauma in farewell?'

'What does it have to do with this?' he indignantly breaks out.

'You're very far from it, don't you? Remember how you were rude to your mama and she lay a week without getting up. When are you gonna learn to keep your own nature inside? Is it so difficult for once to put your pride in the ass and to remain silent?'

'Not for you to tell me, Mikasa'.

In the hallway everything is silent, and this silence cuts a loud ringing slap. Armin pulls the blanket up higher, hiding the nose in the folds. He could hear quick heavy footsteps behind the door, and suddenly it opens up, letting inside a thin figure.

'Hey, Armin', the girl quietly calls him approaching the bed. The guy is afraid even to breathe. 'You heard all of it, huh? When Eren is angry, he screams like a scalded cat. This may seem odd. Her voice so gentle, like parental caring. Is she was yelling something about the imperfection of her close person a moment ago?

Armin had no doubt – they are close. So how can be close the only people who have lived together for more than a decade. For him, it seems a miracle overseas to live with someone, to share own personal space, to let others to ruin your plans, to find time for General things and not to hide from each other their own secrets and desires. Unless surprises.

And just because this human is a native part for such familiar eyes, he allows his hands to fall. Lead pair of dark eyes look at him as if waiting for something. Animate anger still splashes somewhere at the bottom.

'How do I know him?' Armin asks in all seriousness, but then misfires. 'I mean... I heard that you said something about what you know me. Your friend seems vaguely familiar...'

'He's not a friend, he's a brother', with a chuckle and sheepishly dropping of her eyes says the girl. 'Personally I don't know you, but Eren... You went to school together with him in Junior high. At that time he was a violent bully emerge dry from all the fights, thank Director', she softly smiles with the corners of the lips and takes a chair from the corner of the chamber, sitting down beside Armin. 'By the way, my name is Mikasa', she holds to guy a hand, unusually soft and dry, with short nails and shallow lingering scars on his fingers.

'Nice to meet you', mumbles the blond absently shaking the hand. The moment of silence is hanging between them, and the girl pulls away. Mikasa looks at a white wall with unseeing eyes.

'He told me about you', she continues dabbing at Armin's body with her sight. 'Said that you seemed like another bookworm who has no interest in anything but those supersize books. I do not know how, but you piqued his interest. The day began with you and ended in you', she turns her head and looks into Armin's eyes. And then it all came to an abrupt halt. I thought maybe I dreamed all of this, but sadly, the brother said something another. He didn't tell me all the details and I thought you just left school. But then he wouldn't be so enraged...

Hung an awkward silence. Armin frantically thought to tell her or not. The fear of being misunderstood is laying on the first side of the scales, new old friends – on the second.

'I was eight-', starts the blond deciding come what may. He told his story to very small number of person so the words came rather hard. '-When the parents and brother got in a plane crash', he remembers the paper, it was so bright and white. Here it is — the feeling of uselessness and helplessness. 'Mother and father instantly hospitalized, and they still lie in a coma. Brother... died.'

'I-' the girl's voice is quiet and weak. '-I'm sorry.'

'It's all in the past', swallowing the annoying lump in the throat, Armin says a little louder. 'Now it is irrelevant. What was in the past will remain in the past'.

'Now everything is clear', Mikasa mutters thoughtfully. 'You know, Armin, whatever you thought, you're strong'.

'I'm sorry, but I can't think so', he smiles sadly. 'Still I have unresolved issues, I'm not'.

'Okay', she gets up from her seat. 'How are your bandages? Maybe we should change the ice?'

'I think so', answered Arlert nodding his head. 'Call for a male nurse?'

'Yeah, just a second', she flutters in the corridor, hanging herself on the door frame, quietly said. 'Eren, get Mr. Ackerman to change the dressing, please.'

Some scuffling is heard outside the door, and two minutes later the man enters in the chamber. Armin presses his lips and turns his head to the wall, hiding his eyes. How inappropriate gurgling jokes climbs out of his throat, and he tries to distract with something.

'Hey, jerk', wheezes Mr. Ackerman, getting closer. 'Did you overeat a psychostimulants? Take away the blanket, untie the bandage', he turns to Mikasa. 'And you, dear lady, get the fuck out.'

The girl quickly leaves, and sullen looking man with jet-black hair turns to the fridge in the corner, opens it and pulls out a blue bag with ice, from the upper surface of the refrigerator — a small clean dry towel.

'Well, what are you doing? It was not clear what I said?' he growls, turning back. Armin breaks out, and with a jerk throws the blanket and the edges light up a blunt pain, not allowing normal inhale-exhale.

'Well, well done. God Almighty, and when in this world will disappear fools?'

Mr. Ackerman theatrically rolls his eyes, flapping hands like a bird, and approaches Arlert.

'No sudden movements…' he frowns and looks expectantly at the blond. The second slowly nods and gently places on the pillow, and the male nurse approvingly shakes his head. 'Great. Continue?'

* * *

Mr. Ackerman loved to joke, but his jokes was so dirty, so nasty. Armin realized it after the ligation, when Mikasa went into the chamber with the company of Eren. The imprint of the miniature palm burned on the cheekbone of the second that brown-haired tried to hide, covering the tips of the regrown hair.

'How're you feel about Mr. Ackerman?' asks the girl and sits down on the chair again, crossing her legs. Her brother tramples on the doorstep, looking solely at the toes of his sneakers.

'He's... a unique man', meets Armin, smiles awkwardly and slightly lifts at the ice in the towel cools the skin under a ton of blankets and a patient form. 'But he is responsible to his work'.

'Unlike some people', Mikasa hisses, looking askance at Eren, and then rolls her eyes. There comes embarrassing situation, and Armin, to relieve the tension between them, asks, turning his head towards the guy:

'So, we were friends?'

Eren timidly smiles.

'I don't remember much from my childhood, but I remember you', he said, awkwardly shrugging his shoulders. 'My name is Eren. Eren Yeager'.

It reaches out to Armin, and the blond put his hands to the soft rough skin.

'Speaking of the store...' bit his lip, Eren starts. 'Half of the wardrobe was crashed… So I guess we should think how to settle with the owners'.

'Oh, yeah...' Arlert sighs. He had forgotten about this rather big problem. And he understands that he won't be able to pay all spoiled. The guy awkwardly scratches his hand with regrown nails, and Mikasa, noticing his confusion, drew attention of Armin.

'Listen, Armin', she says and walks to the window, gazing at the city skyline. — 'I consider that it is our fault that happened.'

'No, no, wait a minute', blond starts to protest, waving his hands from side to side and making large frightened eyes.

'Don't interrupt me, please', it seems like she's talking to someone behind the window: not changed neither her voice nor facial expression. 'I suggest splitting the cost between us', she turns to Armin, he frowns at the same time. ' _Me and Eren_ '.

'Mikasa…' gently begins blue-eyed, fingering the soft fabric of the blanket. 'There is my fault, and that's why I can't put this all on your shoulders'.

Silence. Eren, standing near the wall and nervously clutching the hands, voices.

'A-Armin… if you want to contact us about work…'

'Were you always this shameless, Eren?' asked the blond squinting. Mikasa's brother shies and blushes, hiding his hands behind his back and opening eyes filled with a desire to help.

'N-no, I... just...' he raves. 'In short, my father works in a shop with art goods, and we might be able to help with additional income'.

'Oh, it's wonderful!' Armin exclaims and compressed: he took too much deep breath. Clutching his chest, he grunts. 'I think firstly I should learn how to control myself'.

He gently smiles and looks at Eren. Mikasa, who stands at the window, snorts and hastily heads for the door.

'I'll go', she says from the hallway. Her words make echo around the room, starting from the thin walls. 'Annie waits for me'.

'Please don't break the bed', Eren grins and then remembers the presence of Armin in the room, presses his head into his shoulders and apologetically says. 'That happened, and unfortunately, more than once'.

Unexpectedly, the blond laughs. Leaping like a nightingale. The ribs hurt, but need to get rid of stress is paramount.

'I wonder we'll be friends', he says after a laugh. One strange thought comes to his mind, but he wants to do it as if hypnotized and beckons the brown-haired to himself. When Eren approaches the bed, he pushed to the wall and grabs his arm, inviting to sit. His skin is so warm and smooth... like in their childhood. 'You know, you haven't changed', he says, fingering Eren's palm. 'Still can't cope with the habit to strip the skin around the nails to the blood'.

'And you still are afraid to cut your hair', smiling, Eren throws a look at honey hair sprawled on the pillow.

'It brings troubles' responds Armin and closes his eyes. He didn't feel so calm and peaceful really long. His arm is lifting and something warm touches it. Moving his fingers, he stumbles into a smile. Encircles the tips of the familiar facial features and slowly falls into a state of suspended animation.

 _'Thank you for what you appeared'._


	3. Chapter 3 Flaws

Armin was released from the hospital after a week and a half. Mr. Ackerman, which came the day before discharge, carefully explained to the boy methods of bandaging, which he lent half an ear: during his stay here he learned all the movements of the male nurse in the smallest details, and extra information is only distracted from thinking about tomorrow.

See, the thing is, Eren decided to start recovery of the blond. Not to say that he was a cripple to the highest degree, however, for his peace of mind decided to lie down at home two weeks, restricting movements and openly spitting at the ceiling.

Probably the only thing that Armin had to admit, gritting his teeth, that's how persistent nature Eren is. All Arlert's arrangements the type of "I can cope" and "I don't want to burden you" were like flies to him, that pesky fly near the face and tickled the nose.

But it's really easy to be around him.

Armin wasn't mad when Eren, excited from the conversation, leaned on the bed, sagged and nearly came nose to nose with him. Armin didn't interrupt Eren with issues when he jumped from topic to topic. On the contrary he like unexpected replicas of the man, his unusual logic.

Over the years, that they have not seen, none of them has changed. Eren was equally a restless bully, climbing on the rampage, and Armin was still a bottomless pit filled with patience and calmness, in which Yeager loves to dive. It was some kind of mutual assistance: Arlert fed up with ordinary life, Eren's weekdays was filled with excessive feelings, overflow emotions. None of the two even dared to think that this meeting may to bring harm.

* * *

On Tuesday, the day after moving home, Armin wakes up awfully early. Goes to shower, eat Breakfast, doing therapeutic exercises... And doesn't know what to do with him before Eren's the advent. The guy promised to come at eleven. Arrow on the clock barely overpowers the number 'seven'. Arlert shallow sighs and lies down on the folding bed, examining the lifeless ceiling and the lamp flying mosquitoes.

'Even though you live on the strength of three weeks, but you are free to go', mutters the man, stretching his hands upwards. 'I'll never be the same'.

He turns his head to the long row of cabinets – the only thing that is inherited from parents, in addition to crap – and wanders slowly towards them. Pass the fingers across the spines of books, old and dusty. Tilting his head to one side, runs his eyes over the titles, snatches them crocked volume of Burgundy.

This Is Brodsky. Favorite poems — like a breath of fresh air. The description, epithets, metaphors — all leads to aesthetic satisfaction, soothing soul weathering of unnecessary thoughts out of head.

Armin opens the book somewhere in the middle, run along the lines of "Pilgrims" and slams it.

'Too easy', he scolds puts the volume back on the shelf. Pouting, he goes into the next room — a room with a sink, drawers and a table. It might be called a kitchen if it was like even a utility room. 'Too boring'.

He knows why. The reason is incessantly beating heart, trying to jump out through his throat. This feeling is embarrassing and annoying at the same time. And Armin with pleasure would replace it to, for example, feelings of sadness or extreme thoughtfulness. With them though you can think and breathe.

Armin hangs around the house to nine o'clock looking for inspiration. He manages to get the dishes and remove garbage from the bedroom as he stumbles on a forgotten album. He opens it and, turning over page after page, begins to laugh out loud. Faces of his parents are drown on yellowed paper, some asymmetrical, but every single one has a giant pig nose. When he reached the last, he blinks and sighs disappointedly.

The guy finds a pen, stuck in the crease of complimentary newspaper, and sits on the folding bed, taking the drawings. He opens the first page from the end and carefully draws the outline of a human figure. Appreciating creations ten minutes later, Armin was surprised to notice that if whatever the situation, he could become an artist. These 'could' and debts for the next few years spoils the entire things.

'Knock-knock', says the voice behind the door. Armin shakes off the obsession, passes into the passage and, removing the lock, and lets Eren in the room. Breathless, ruddy and sweet-smelling due pastries. Brown-haired smiles apologetically and picks up the package, which holds in his hand, opening and showing the contents to Arlert. On cue, blonde's belly overthrows the cries of a wounded beast, and he slowly turns away, retreating deeper into the apartment with burning ears. Eren manages to notice became big puddles of bright light eyes and pursed lips, and smiles.

Armin leads him to the kitchen where they sit at the table on the old hard wooden chairs. Eren unaccustomed hisses, and the blonde instantly climbs apology, complaining about a bad idea. When he gets to his feet, intending to go to another room for litter, Yeager grabs his thin wrist and puts him on the chair saying 'that's all right'. Armin sighs and quietly sits. Edges are almost sick.

'By the way, I brought ginger cookies and sugar donuts', seeing that the blond fell into prostration, Eren says, placing sweets on the table surface. 'Not sure what you like, so took it to my own taste'.

'No, thanks, everything is fine', shaking his head and smiling, meets Armin and gets up again. 'Would you like tea?'

'Hell, sit down, please', snarls the guy, Arlert only throws a sly look over his shoulder. Rolling his eyes, Eren rises too and approaches the single cupboard above the sink. 'Let me help you', he muttered, and Armin laughs leaping, didn't fully understand why. 'Where're your cups?' asks Eren, parallel to opening the door, hold on parole. His gaze rests on the three plain mugs lined up in a row under the plates. Taking two, he says: 'Still wet'.

Armin awkwardly shrugs, smiling timidly, gaining water in the kettle, standing at the old stove, lights a fire with a match and puts it to warm up. The flame hisses from the droplets of moisture remaining on the bottom of the heavy crockery.

Eren puts cups on the table, drops bags of black tea; the sugar bowl is standing next.

The kettle whistles, and Arlert, holding the handle with a towel, carefully pours the boiling water to the mugs. Dishes negligent squeaks.

In fact, Eren prepared himself for something like that. Living in the lovely expensive duplex outside the city, driving a fancy car, studying at the prestigious college — it seemed like a daily routine, not requiring anything in return. And now he feels only silence, pressing on the eardrums, and dull room, full of loneliness.

Shaking from the head all the unwanted thoughts — because Armin obviously don't need pity — he concentrated on opens plastic bags and puts sweets on a plate, casually throwing one cookie in blonde's mouth. Armin smacks his lips and smiles blissfully. Fiery flower blossoms in Eren's chest.

'How is Mikasa?' asks Armin, and black sparkling strands and a relaxed look sweep before Jaeger's eyes.

'She left home', answers Eren, chuckling. He sits at the table, watching as Arlert who flushes tea bags in boiling water. 'Said he does not intend to tolerate as I'm interfering in her personal life. I'm sure she'll be back when she's done with her Blondie'.

Armin oddly looks at him.

'You think so because would have done the same thing?'

'What?' Eren frowns and reaches for the scattered candles in the center. 'Of course, no! I just know this girl since childhood!'

'Oh, Eren!' Armin exhales and smiles. 'Take it easy!'

In response, brown-haired silly grins and scratches his head.

There is an awkward pause. Eren pats his ankle with the shoe under the table; Armin eats a cookie and starts to doughnuts.

'So how's your life?' quietly asked the blue-eyed, sitting down on the chair.

'I study at the pedagogical college, think after him to go to University to study Philology, and there's how it goes', says Eren, tasting the tea. 'And you?'

'I quit school, it prevents me', shrugging his shoulders, answers Armin. Eren must be frowning, but silent. 'Work in an Antiques shop... I mean, worked. I bet boss wouldn't let me to the store more than on the meter'.

'Oh, Armin', starts Eren, then turns back to his bag lying in the corner of the kitchen, reaching for it, rummages and pulls out a brand new notebook. Long sharp pencil tangled in springs. He pulls it out and passes the two gizmos in the hands of a confused Arlert. 'Can you write something about yourself? Um… name-surname, date of birth... everything that I can show to my Dad'.

'Okay', Armin nods and outputs the calligraphed letters. Slowly and carefully. Eren is surprised, but says nothing. Again. Catching the change in his mood, the blonde says: 'I have a home library; a lot of books preserved in the calligraphic handwriting and stitched pages. When I get sad, I try to rewrite them.

Eren shocked.

 _How many hundreds of times he'd get sad if he managed to come up with those spelling?_

'Here', there is a piece of paper with a pen in front of his nose, and fingers, transmit them, clicked before the eyes. 'Are you asleep?'

Eren's head swinging from side to side. An evil grin grows on Armin's face. Yeager grabs a cookie and shoves it in the mouth of the blonde. Blue eyes disappear under the eyelashes.

'Do you feel better?' Eren asks, glancing at the chest. Armin nods his head.

'Much. A couple of days and it will pass. I hope I'll go to work immediately. I got a bill for the broken'.

Eren thoughtfully puts the sweetness into the cup, watching how the hot liquid envelops it on all sides.

'The offer... it still stands', says brown-haired without looking up. Something tells him that he'll meet in the sight of Armin only blue cold.

'Thank you for your support, Eren', returns Armin. His voice is too soft. 'I made a mess, and I need to fix it. We can split it in a half — but that is the maximum'.

 _Still, it's more than nothing_ , Eren thinks with relief.

* * *

That day, Eren went late in the evening.

Armin don't know how he found the picture he drawn in old the album, and at first laughed to colic in the stomach and then in all seriousness said that Armin should go to art college. Armin just shrugged. "Maybe sometime" sounded in this gesture.

Eren told him about his studies, about the 'nosed' Mikasa's girl, their exotic hobbies and about his own life in general. Armin found out that in childhood Eren was struggling with piano lessons, he didn't like Mr. Ackerman — his teacher — and loved sweet toffee, astringent mouth.

'So, he had worked as a teacher?' turning the head to one side and staring at the ceiling, asked Arlert. Empty cups in the sink were like an eyesore, but the presence of the guest is not allowed to be distracted by such nonsense. 'And how he got into the field of medicine?'

'There is a long story', Eren said and waves his hand, wearily rubbing his eyes. 'In short, he fell in love with the manager, went on dates and then he kicked out from work for failing to deal with children. It's hard to find the work on his specialty, but Smith asked him to retrain as a nurse. He agreed — and why not, if so your Daddy will be always there? — and now blows minds of all visitors and staff'.

Armin laughed, holding his stomach and trying to breathe shallowly.

'The feeling that you're jealous', he says hoarsely. Eren rolls his eyes and shakes his head a couple of times. Armin feels like he has begun to numb his feet and he gets up and goes to the sink and begins to wash the dishes, shaking his legs. Itchy burning sensation is gradually eroding.

'Perhaps, in some sense I envy', hears Arlert, watching as Eren was fumbling in his bag. His fingers pull out another notepad — brand new A5 format, with thick leaves and without a single blot. He puts it on the table, moving closer to Armin, next drops a few pencils and erasers. 'Here, take this. Develop your talent, please. Don't let it slip away'.

Armin is silent, thinking what to say. A 'thank you' or 'of course' is clearly not what Eren wants to hear right now. Not fully realizing what he was going to implement, on still piercing feet he comes to the brown-haired and extends his hands. For a moment insight settles on the Jaeger's face, and he slowly rises from his chair and hugs Armin easily, allowing him to be discharged in case.

'I will try, Eren', Armin exhales, breathing in the familiar smell.


End file.
